


Anywhere But Here

by LuthienLuinwe



Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: And read them again, Blood, Broken Bones, Captivity, Dark fic, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Forced Nudity, Gratuitous Violence, Gun Violence, Hurt No Comfort, I probably wouldn't call it happy, Kidnapping, Knives, Loss of hope, M/M, Not for the faint of heart, Psychological Torture, Stabbed against a wall, Stabbing, There is an ending, Threats, Torture, misery porn, pinned down, read the tags
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-01
Updated: 2020-11-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27332503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuthienLuinwe/pseuds/LuthienLuinwe
Summary: When Dick is kidnapped by Black Mask, nothing can go right. All he can do is stay alive long enough to hope for a rescue, something much easier said than done.For withthekeyisking for completing the Dick Rare-Pair Challenge.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Roman Sionis
Comments: 9
Kudos: 64
Collections: Dick Grayson Rare Pair Challenge





	Anywhere But Here

**Author's Note:**

  * For [withthekeyisking](https://archiveofourown.org/users/withthekeyisking/gifts).



> I cannot begin to stress enough that this is a violent, dark fic with little to no comfort to be found. Please, please take a moment to review the tags. Be advised this fic contains graphic depictions of torture and rape. I have tried to tag for everything and apologize if anything was missed.
> 
> Q, I hope you enjoy!

He came to gradually, head and limbs heavy. Stop. Take stock. Breathing? Good. Hands? Bound behind his back. Not good. Arms tied at the biceps and elbows. Legs tied at the thighs, knees, and ankles. Worse. The room was tiny. Dark. Too long to be a closet. Too narrow to be a warehouse. No natural light save for a tiny crack at one end of wherever he was. Too little for his eyes to adjust to.

What happened?

He shook his head, trying to clear it.

This was bad. And worse. It had been planned. Had to have been.

He struggled against his bonds. No good. Tied tight, even by his standards. He could feel his right hand start to tingle and wondered how long he’d been out.

A wave of nausea rolled over him.

What had they drugged him with?

He wasn’t sure. Hopefully nothing too serious. Hopefully it would wear off soon.

He needed to be at his best to face this.

Whatever “this” would end up being.

He shut his eyes and tried to focus on what he could hear. Not much. A man, maybe two, outside, no doubt keeping watch in case he tried anything (he would if he could, he was sure of that much). Something rushing. Some sort of factory? Had to be…

A creaking noise jolted him back, and the small area was flooded with light. He fought the urge to immediately look at the light, instead taking in his surroundings. Metal walls. Blue. Fitting, he thought bitterly. Some sort of shipping container if the boxes surrounding him were anything to go by.

“Mr. Grayson,” a voice, cruel and cold greeted him. 

Dick felt his blood run cold. He knew that voice, and he knew nothing good ever came from it.

“I hope you enjoyed your… nap.”

Roman Sionis stepped inside, a white tailored suit fitting him perfectly, mask ever-present on his face. Dick was pretty sure he’d just had his shoes shined. Bastard. Of course he would have dressed up for an occasion like this.

It wasn’t every day a Bat wandered into a well set trap.

“Fuck off,” he slurred, head lolling to the side. His mind was still fuzzy from the drugs. Whatever they’d gotten him with had been strong, that was for damned sure.

He was on the ground before he could blink, face stinging, more stunned than he was hurt. 

“You’ll have to watch that mouth.”

Dick glared up at him with as much hate as he could muster.

Roman was… not an ideal captor. Better than Joker, worse than Freeze. He needed to get out, and he needed to do it fast.

Long captivities with Roman never meant anything good.

“I said fuck off,” Dick spat, crying out when a harsh kick landed square on his ribs.

Not just shined shoes. Steel-toed too.

His mouth would get him in trouble one day. Everyone had always told him that. Bruce. His teachers. Every teammate he’d ever had. Hell. Even Roy had mentioned it once or twice. It had to have been bad when  _ Roy Harper  _ was warning him to watch it.

Dick’s eyes went wide when the air stopped flowing into his lungs. He struggled against his bonds, trying to get his hands free to pull Roman’s away from his neck so he could breathe. 

_ He won’t kill you _ , a voice in the back of his head said. And it was probably true. Roman never did like a quick kill.

He gasped when the pressure was released and he could finally breathe again.

_ He’ll just make you wish you were dead. _

* * *

He sat in the dark, nothing to keep him company but the sound of his pulse beating against his neck and the blood rushing in his ears. It was completely dark by then, the small crack of light having faded away. Roman must have left for the day and killed the lights.

His arms had gone numb hours ago, and he’d still made no progress in loosening anything up.  _ Just need a hand free. Just a hand…  _

Luckily Roman hadn't bothered coming back, though Dick wasn’t completely sold on that being a good thing. Roman liked to play the long game if Bruce and Jason’s pooled data was anything to go by.

Fine.

Dick knew how to play the long game too.

Someone would notice he was gone. Someone would start looking.

They’d find him.

Assuming there was anything to find.

No. 

He couldn’t think like that. They’d find him. They had to.

_ Just like they found Jason? Two seconds too late? _

A wave of nausea rolled over him once more, and he screwed his eyes shut. The drugs should have worn off by then. So why was he still sick?

The creak of the door snapped him back to attention, though he couldn’t quite make out who he was dealing with - Roman or some low level lackey.

Roman’s goons weren’t like the others, though. He liked them smart. Creative.

A shudder ran down Dick’s spine at the thought.

And here his teachers had always told him creativity was a good thing.

He watched the shadow move closer to him. Too bulky to be Roman. The man walked behind him, and Dick winced as a pair of rough hands pulled him to his feet. “They weren’t kidding when they said you were pretty,” a deep voice whispered into his ear, and Dick’s stomach lurched. “Shame the boss said we can’t do anything about it.”

Dick winced and shut his eyes when he felt a sharp point at his throat. 

“I could do it now. You’d probably thank me for it.” The man dragged the point of the knife along Dick’s throat. Small beads of blood formed where the edge had been. Dick could feel them, tiny and warm. 

“What do you want?” he demanded, fighting every instinct in him telling him to fight back.

He pulled at the restraints again. He wasn’t sure if it was his imagination but they seemed looser.  _ Not loose enough. _

He needed to get out. Get his hands on that knife, even. 

Roman’s men would have guns. He was sure of that. He’d need any edge he could get. 

“Me?” the man asked with a laugh. “I don’t want anything. Boss said you were his to play with. I’m just the messenger.”

“So what’s the message?” Dick snarled.

It happened so fast he barely registered it. The sound of the knife slashing through his shirt, dragging down, never breaking skin. The cold hitting his skin as his clothes were ripped away, thrown to the floor.

“Your Sionis property now,” the man hissed, dropping the knife as he left.

* * *

He was colder than he’d ever admit to, and it felt wrong. Gotham was known for its brutal winters, sure, but summers generally made it to the upper 90s, if not hundreds. His science teachers had always mentioned something about Gotham being a heat island. Dick hadn't really paid that much attention.

A dry, panicked laugh caught in his throat.

To think there was a time when his biggest worry was his fifth grade climate test for science class.

A chill ran down his spine, and he would have reached for something to cover himself if he could.

The goon had managed to loosen the ropes, but not by much. 

He could see the knife from the corner of his eye, the returned light reflecting off the blade.

He tugged at the restraints again.

Just a little more give, that was all he needed.

Just a little more…

The door started to open, and his stomach churned. He couldn’t let himself slip into a false sense of security. He wasn’t dumb. This ended one of two ways: rescue or horrific death.

Roman never had liked gray areas.

He saw the light reflecting of Roman’s goddamn shoes before he saw the silhouette of the man himself. 

“Now isn’t this a lovely sight.” Dick didn’t need to see the smirk behind the mask to know it was there.

“Fuck you.”

A dry laugh escaped Roman's lips as he crossed the room, shoes clicking against the metal floor.

Dick screwed his eyes shut and bit his tongue when he felt Roman's gloved hand run through his hair, as if petting him. A wince escaped his lips when the soft touch turned rougher, tugging his hair, forcing his head back.

"Look at me," the man hissed.

Dick kept his eyes shut.

A small voice in the back of his head told him it would be better to be complicit. His goal wasn't to escape. He'd heard the sound of multiple guns being loaded through the walls. And knowing Roman? The place was likely more heavily manned than the White House.

Sit still. Be a good boy. Wait for a rescue.

He'd played Boy Hostage enough to know how these things went.

Or at least how they should go.

He heard it before he felt it. A harsh crack against the floor. Ringing in his ears and stars in his vision. He could feel the blood start to drip down the side of his face.  _ Head wounds bleed... _

The pain came, just like he knew it would. A harsh, throbbing pain radiated through his skull, like his brain was trying to escape but didn't know how.

"You're smarter than that, Grayson," Roman laughed. A chill ran down Dick's spine. "Let's get something straight. When I talk, you answer.” Dick gritted his teeth and glared up at Roman.

If looks could kill?

He was sure that the bastard would be six feet under.

“And from this point out?” Roman continued, harsh grip turning soft again. He tangled his fingers in Dick’s hair so gently Dick wanted to be sick. “That only answer is ‘Yes, sir.’”

Dick managed to swallow the reply that threatened to escape his lips. “Fine,” he hissed. “I’ll bite. What do you want?”

Roman’s hand wrapped around his throat, pressing and crushing, a feeling Dick was starting to get used to and didn’t like any more the second time around. “Stupid boy,” Roman tsk’ed. “But you’ll learn.”

The pressure on his throat eased, and Dick gasped for air, desperate for anything he could get, filling up his lungs in case it happened again. 

Roman turned on his heel.

“They always do.”

* * *

He wasn't sure how much time had passed, if it had been days or hours. The rumbling in his stomach and the ringing in his head told him it had been awhile.

He wasn't sure how long it was he'd slept, if it were minutes or hours. The lack of visual clues from the outside was driving him up the wall, not that he could move if he wanted to. HIs arms and legs had gone numb hours ago.

At least, he was pretty sure it had been hours.

He slept curled up as best as he could on the floor, the cold metal a relief to the bruises littering his face.

God help that bastard when he got out of this...

_ If,  _ a small voice in the back of his head piped in.

Dick tried to shove it out of his mind.

'If' wasn't a friendly word. Not here. Not now.

_ When,  _ he told himself.

_ When. When. When. _

The familiar sound of the container door being opened brought him out of his light sleep. His eyes snapped open and he took in a deep breath, waiting to see who walked in: Roman or some goon.

_ Bruce. Please be Bruce. Please be Bruce... _

Blindingly bright light illuminated Roman from behind. A dry laugh caught in Dick's throat. He was pretty sure the bastard had managed to get his white pinstriped suit pressed within the last few hours.

Dick frowned when something caught in the light.

His eyes darted to the source of the light, and his heart dropped into his stomach.

_ Knife. _

Every instinct in him screamed to run. To get as far away from Roman as he could.

But he couldn't.

Not like this.

He struggled pathetically against his restraints, only for Roman to push him down with a forceful hand that was so, so much stronger than it looked. "Now, now," he shook his head, running the back of the hand holding the knife down the side of Dick's face so gently Dick wanted to scream. "That's no way to behave."

Dick glared up at the man with as much hate as he could manage, but he was certain his eyes would betray the fear pulsing through him.

Fear was never an emotion Dick had been particularly comfortable with. He could probably count on one hand the amount of times he'd been genuinely scared.

This was one of those times.

He frowned when Roman snaked the hand with the knife behind Dick's back, fear turning to confusion when the ropes binding his hands snapped.

"What are you..." he started, only to feel the point of the knife against his back. He snapped his mouth shut, fighting the instinct to keep talking.

_ Trap,  _ the voice in the back of his head screamed at him.  _ It's a trap... _

His mind started running a mile a minute. His arms were free, but his legs weren't. But he could handle that. He just needed to wrestle the knife away from Roman. He could do it. It would be tricky, but he could do it...

His arms tingled as his blood started circulating back into them. He grabbed Roman by the wrist and tried to force it backward, only for Roman to grab his other arm, twisting it behind his back hard...

He heard it before he felt it.

A wave of nausea rolled over him as the sickening  _ snap  _ echoed around them.

Roman laughed, something dark and cruel, and Dick screwed his eyes shut tight, pain radiating all down his arm, pulsing through him.

"So predictable," Roman taunted. "And here I thought the Bat had you better trained than that."

Dick took several shallow, labored breaths before opening his eyes again. “What do you want?” he demanded, his voice more exhausted than it was angry. 

“Me?” Roman asked, an innocent tone in his voice that made Dick want to punch his face in so hard that goddamn mask would get embedded in it. Dick frowned again when Roman stood up, yanking Dick up by his broken arm. A scream caught in his throat, and he fought like hell to keep it down.  _ Don’t give him the satisfaction. _

Roman was toying with him, like a cat and its prey. And Dick? Got enough of that game with Slade, thank you very much. 

He took a deep breath in through his nose, letting it out of his mouth with a hiss like a tire leaking air. Dinah taught him that one way back when. 

Back when the worst thing that happened in a week was a sprained knee. Back when he worried about what hair gel to use for the girls in his class to think he was cute. 

Back before Jason had even been thought of, let alone died. 

Something twisted in his chest, and a panicked laugh escaped his throat. 

Jason had warned Dick Roman was bad news. Not someone to piss off if he could avoid it. 

Dick had laughed it off as an over exaggeration. 

He never would have dreamed it to be the biggest understatement of his life.

He took another breath and forced himself to look at Roman. His eyes darted from the stack of boxes he was being held against to the door. He just needed his legs free. A solid punch and he could run…  _ They have guns. _

He’d fall right back down the second Roman let go of his hand.

But maybe he could take the bastard down with him.

_ Get the knife. _

Roman’s grip went lax on his arm, and Dick shifted to fall forward, trying to grab Roman’s arm with his good hand. 

But Roman was faster than he looked. Dick’s eyes went wide when he managed to side-step and moved to grab Dick from behind. Dick struggled weakly, exhaustion and hunger and pain dulling his reflexes. “You little  _ brat,”  _ Roman hissed into his ear, and Dick’s blood ran cold. “You never learn, do you?”

Dick struggled harder as Roman shoved him against the boxes, pinning his good arm above his head. 

He couldn’t stop the scream that escaped as the knife plunged between the bones in his wrist, pinning him to the surface. Warm, wet blood started to flow down his arm, staining the cardboard. 

_ Stay alive. Wait for a rescue… _

He started to turn his head, needing to see what Roman was doing behind him. Needing to see a path out of this.

Roman twisted the knife, and Dick screamed again.  _ Breathe. Breathe. Breathe… _

“You know, I really never understood what everyone sees in you,” Roman spoke, voice soft and threatening. Dick screwed his eyes shut as a gloved hand ran down his back slowly. Gently. “But seeing you like this?” Roman released his grip on the knife, and Dick slid down slightly, hissing in pain. “I think I see it now.”

_ He’s all talk,  _ Dick tried to tell himself.  _ He just wants to hear himself talk… He wants to scare you. Get under your skin. _

He frowned when Roman started untying the ropes on his legs. He could kick him… He could get out of this mess… He could…

He heard a click behind him and didn’t need to turn to know someone had just cocked a gun. A loud bang echoed through the air, and a bullet pierced through a box, dangerously close to Dick’s head.

“Next one goes through,” Roman warned. “Do you know how hard it is to get brain matter out of a suit? I’d hate to ruin this one.”

Dick’s breathing sped up, and he fought to keep calm.

_ Stay alive. Wait for a rescue. Bruce is coming. He’s coming… _

He could kick him. He could kick him and get the knife out of him and run and…

_ You can’t outrun them. _

The realization hit him, and he fought another wave of panic that threatened to consume him. He had to stay calm. Panic didn’t solve anything. Had to stay calm. Had to stay calm. Had to…

The sound of a zipper being undone ripped him back to reality.

_ Nonononono…  _ This wasn’t happening. It wasn’t. Not here. Not now. Not to him… 

Dick could see the pile of clothes the thug had cut off him from the corner of his eye. He bit down on his tongue as Roman adjusted him. He wouldn’t beg. It wasn’t like it would do any good anyway.

What Roman wanted, Roman got.

Roman’s gloved hand gently cupped Dick’s face, and Dick felt like he was going to be sick.

Blinding pain shot through him as Roman shoved his cock inside him. A strangled scream escaped his throat.

_ Not happening. Not happening… _

He tried to fight back the tears pricking at the corner of his eyes.  _ Bruce is coming for you. He’s coming for you. He’s on his way. Has to be on his way… _

Roman’s thumb stroked his cheek as he thrusted into him, setting a brutal pace. A low moan escaped the bastard’s lips, and DIck struggled against him to no avail. “They’re right,” he spoke, followed by another brutal thrust that threatened to tear Dick in two. “You are good for something after all.”

It was several brutal minutes before Roman finished and pulled out. Blood and semen flowed out of him, and he tried to think of something else. Anything else. He gasped as Roman grabbed him by the hair, forcing his head back to look at him. Harsh brown eyes blinked at him from behind the holes in the mask he wore. “There’s a good boy,” he spoke, ripping the knife out of Dick’s wrist and letting him fall as he left.

* * *

Dick curled up on the floor, trying to remember how to breathe. Trying to remember how to be. A violent, panicked sob rushed over him. The door creaked open, and he didn’t even bother looking to see who it was.

Loud, frantic footsteps echoed through the space.  _ Running… _

Strong hands wrapped around him, and panic rushed through Dick’s veins. He struggled as hard as he could, only to be pulled back against whoever it was.

“Dick,” a familiar voice whispered into his ear. “Dick, calm down. Dick, it’s me. He’s gone. Ran.”

Dick sobbed as Bruce held him close, finding a small ounce of comfort in the feeling of the Batsuit against his skin.  _ Not Roman’s Prada…  _

“He’s gone,” Bruce soothed. “He’s gone.”


End file.
